Okay, so I know I've been a bit incommunicado this summer, and I'm sorry about that. But, I've been busy.
Here are the two big things I've accomplished (other than keeping all the kids and pets alive. Not as much luck with my tomato plants, however. But, in the whole scheme of things I think that's a pretty good trade-off):
~just finished (as of 3:08 p.m. today) another complete rewrite of my MS. Whoo-hoo.
~Successfully drove 2200+ miles helping my son move to Seattle. I wrote about it here.
I've also cheered for the Cubs (much to the chagrin of the rest of my family who are all St. Louis Cardinals fans), followed the Brett Favre saga much too closely, and offered not-always-sought-after advice to all 5 children.
I've tried to get back to walking, given up on a walk-run regimen (but garnered some writing wisdom in the process), and broken all previous records for grilling out.
I've spent as many evenings as I could sitting out on the porch with my husband, sipping wine, talking over the day, and trying to never forget how incredibly lucky we are.
The next few weeks are looking hectic--6 days in Oregon, a Springsteen concert in St. Louis (and maybe one in Kansas City), 3 days in Chicago with my husband's family (yes, a Cubs game!!), 2 days in Chicago (a separate trip) for a book club and play time with some writer friends, and 4 days in Vegas tagging along with my husband. I'll be posting and checking in.
I'll also be reading. Just today I picked up Tethered (Yay Amy!!!). Expect a full report when I get back into town next week.
So, happy last few weeks of summer to all of you . . .
Showing posts with label Seattle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Seattle. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
What a Short, Wonderful Trip It's Been*
Twenty-two years and four months ago today, I delivered my first child, a beautiful, tiny, baby boy born in the wee hours (minutes, really) of Easter Sunday morning. He arrived a month early. (I don't believe he's been early for anything since.)
One week ago today, I delivered that same baby, now a beautiful young man to his new life in Seattle where he has an apartment overlooking Puget Sound, a job he's been dreaming about since he started college 4 years ago, and, at least as far as I can see it, the world by a string.
And it all passed in the blink of an eye.
How did it all happen, I found myself wondering on our 2200 mile drive west. Where did the time go? In his grin and in his sweetness, I can still see the little boy who fell out of his chair just about every day in 1st grade. And I also saw his intelligence and determination as he figured out, several times, how to back up the 17-foot truck with a car being towed behind it. Often when I'd pulled it a smidge too close to the gas pump or the curb or the building wall in the alley. I'd first seen those qualities when he'd finish a puzzle without asking for any help or follow the painstaking directions putting a lego project together.
I remember back to those precious quiet moments you only get with your first baby, those hours of rocking and nursing and staring at this person who relied on me for everything (that's true terror!), wondering who he might grow up to be. I hoped he'd find a career he'd love, a career that would fill him in all good ways. I wanted a life for him filled with passion and joy and challenge and satisfaction. And he's making it happen. He picked his dream city and he sent out letters and resumes and he now gets to claim his life. I'm thrilled and humbled.
We had lots of time to talk on our drive, and it was a luxury I haven't had with him in I don't know how long. At home, we chat, but it seems always in passing. When he's been away at school, there's the occasional relaxing phone call, but more often it's a quick "How are you? Love you. Bye." But the road stretched out before us, mountains and plains and rivers, and we talked. About politics and the environment and music. But a good deal of the time was spent reminiscing. As parents, I think we often wonder what they'll take away from their childhoods. What will they remember and hold fast to? I wasn't always patient or creative. I remember being tired much of the time. Should I have done more of this or less of that? We wonder and worry and try our hardest and hope for the best. But even then we don't always know.
But then, somewhere in South Dakota (after the keys had been locked in the truck but before we'd discovered the brakes were a tad touchy), he told me what a great childhood he'd had, how he loved those summers of adding on to his fort in the backyard and exploring in the woods near the park, how our neighborhood had been just right, filled with kids of all ages to play with and learn from, and how he was glad he'd had such unprogrammed summers filled with inventions and activities the kids dreamed up, and I felt myself relax. I'd done good. And so had he.
So, after the drive and the unloading and the short few hours of sleep before my flight home, when I hugged him goodbye at the airport and kissed his neck, I knew we were both ready for this next part of our lives together. People have asked if I'm sad he's so far away or if I cried when I said goodbye. And I'm not and I didn't. There's nothing to be sad or weepy about--22 very short years ago, I set out on a promise to give him roots and wings. And looking at him now, I think I accomplished both.
* With apologies to Jerry and the rest of the band for the paraphrase
(Cross-posted at Channeling Erma)
One week ago today, I delivered that same baby, now a beautiful young man to his new life in Seattle where he has an apartment overlooking Puget Sound, a job he's been dreaming about since he started college 4 years ago, and, at least as far as I can see it, the world by a string.
And it all passed in the blink of an eye.
How did it all happen, I found myself wondering on our 2200 mile drive west. Where did the time go? In his grin and in his sweetness, I can still see the little boy who fell out of his chair just about every day in 1st grade. And I also saw his intelligence and determination as he figured out, several times, how to back up the 17-foot truck with a car being towed behind it. Often when I'd pulled it a smidge too close to the gas pump or the curb or the building wall in the alley. I'd first seen those qualities when he'd finish a puzzle without asking for any help or follow the painstaking directions putting a lego project together.
I remember back to those precious quiet moments you only get with your first baby, those hours of rocking and nursing and staring at this person who relied on me for everything (that's true terror!), wondering who he might grow up to be. I hoped he'd find a career he'd love, a career that would fill him in all good ways. I wanted a life for him filled with passion and joy and challenge and satisfaction. And he's making it happen. He picked his dream city and he sent out letters and resumes and he now gets to claim his life. I'm thrilled and humbled.
We had lots of time to talk on our drive, and it was a luxury I haven't had with him in I don't know how long. At home, we chat, but it seems always in passing. When he's been away at school, there's the occasional relaxing phone call, but more often it's a quick "How are you? Love you. Bye." But the road stretched out before us, mountains and plains and rivers, and we talked. About politics and the environment and music. But a good deal of the time was spent reminiscing. As parents, I think we often wonder what they'll take away from their childhoods. What will they remember and hold fast to? I wasn't always patient or creative. I remember being tired much of the time. Should I have done more of this or less of that? We wonder and worry and try our hardest and hope for the best. But even then we don't always know.
But then, somewhere in South Dakota (after the keys had been locked in the truck but before we'd discovered the brakes were a tad touchy), he told me what a great childhood he'd had, how he loved those summers of adding on to his fort in the backyard and exploring in the woods near the park, how our neighborhood had been just right, filled with kids of all ages to play with and learn from, and how he was glad he'd had such unprogrammed summers filled with inventions and activities the kids dreamed up, and I felt myself relax. I'd done good. And so had he.
So, after the drive and the unloading and the short few hours of sleep before my flight home, when I hugged him goodbye at the airport and kissed his neck, I knew we were both ready for this next part of our lives together. People have asked if I'm sad he's so far away or if I cried when I said goodbye. And I'm not and I didn't. There's nothing to be sad or weepy about--22 very short years ago, I set out on a promise to give him roots and wings. And looking at him now, I think I accomplished both.
* With apologies to Jerry and the rest of the band for the paraphrase
(Cross-posted at Channeling Erma)
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